then sold to the suburban beaux who sun themselves beyond the Barriers.

The traffic carried on by this family takes place at night, by torch-light, and by Dutch auction. There you may see put up a coat from the studio of Humann, a genuine waistcoat from the hand of Blanc, and trousers whose incomparable cut declares them to have proceeded from the genius and shears of Morbach; in a word, the costume complete of a "fashionable" of the first water-for how much? Three francs!—just half-a-crown!--the pleasantry of the vendor included, without extra charge.

This pleasantry is something like that of our "Cheap Jacks," whose invention is so facile, and whose power of lying exceeds that of Osten-Sacken and the Czar together. "Look, gentlemen," exclaims one of the illustrious house in question; "this coat originally belonged to a Russian prince, and was the means of rendering him irresistible in the eyes of a danseuse of the Grande Chaumière. It subsequently became the admiration of all the inhabitants of the Closerie du Lilas, who saw its effect on the back of a celebrated corn-cutter. By means of this coat the valet of a "mylord" carried off a figurante from the little Théâtre des Délassemens, who mistook him for his master. The coat has come to us immediately from this last possessor, the extravagance of whose Dulcinea com pelled him to part from it. Well, gentlemen, notwithstanding all these glorious souvenirs, in spite of all the conquests due to it, I give it to you, gentlemen, at three francs! Three francs! there is an opportunity for those accustomed to profit by it!"

The coat put up at three francs has a gradually diminishing value put upon it, until it is at last purchased at thirty sous. Morbach's trousers go for a franc; and Blanc's waistcoat for the small price of fifty centimes-fivepence!

The garments thus purchased are often only retained for a single Sunday, some fête day, on which the poor cavalier desires to look splendid, though it be with a second-hand splendour, in the eyes of his "belle." If the costume holds together through the severe

ordeal of a night's dancing, it is often resold to the Temple merchants, who repair the damage, and again fit it to the back of some ephemeral dandy of the suburbs who wishes but to shine for " a little day."

"La Mère Moskow" drives her own trade by the side of the Meurt-de-Soifs. She is an ex-vivandière of the Grand Army, who lets out body linen to poor gentlemen suffering from scarcity. A shirt may be hired of her for a week for the modest price of twopence, the wearer being required merely to leave his old one, by way of a security deposit. Nothing can be more delicate than, not the deposit, but the manner in which the request is made; and a shirt of La Mère Moskow might have been worn, without scruple, at Lord O'Grady's by the Reverend Ozias Polyglot, or the better endowed Reverend Obadiah Pringle.

But I shall have more to say hereafter touching Gallic influences incidentally; I will therefore turn from persons and places to things, and, hat in hand, discourse of what I hold.

HATS.

"Your bonnet to its right use."-SHAKESPEARE.

NEWTON observed this Shakespearian injunction by always taking off his hat when he pronounced the name of God. This was a right use. The grandmother of Guy Faux devoted one to a strange use when she bequeathed her best velvet hat to a nephew. I have often wondered if he went to church in it! The grandees of Spain treat their sacred sovereign with less respect than Newton showed for a sacred name. It is the privilege of the grandees of Spain that they may stand with their hats on in the presence of their Sovereign. There is but one noble in England so privileged—the head, so to speak, of the De Courcys, Earls of Kinsale.

It is just six centuries and a half since Philip of France sent over a knight to summon King John to answer for the murder of Prince Arthur, or abide by trial by combat. John had no relish to do either, but he looked round for a substitute willing to meet one of the alternatives. There was a gallant soldier in prison of the name of De Courcy. He had conquered Ulster for his master, Lackland, and had been rewarded with captivity because he had not done more. His fetters were struck off, and he was asked if he were willing to be champion for John in this bloody arbitrament. "No, not for him!" cried De Courcy, "but for my country, ay!" The adversaries met, yet did not come to an encounter; for, the French knight, not liking the look of his gigantic foe, declined the combat, and so lost his honour. John and Philip, who were together present, directed De Courcy to give them a taste of his

quality. Whereupon the champion placed his helmet upon a post, and cleaving through the first into the second, his sword stuck so fast in the wood that none but himself could draw it out. "Never unveil thy bonnet, man, again, before king or subject," was the cheap privilege accorded him by the economical John; "but tell us why thou lookedst so fiercely round ere thou didst deal thy dainty stroke." "Because, had I failed, I intended to slay all who had dared to mock me." "By the mass," said John, "thou art a pleasant companion, and therewith Heaven keep thee in good beavers !"

It was long the custom for the De Courcy's to wear their hat, but for a moment, in presence of their respective kings, just for the purpose of asserting their privilege, and then to doff it, like other men. The head of the family, at one of George the Third's Drawing-rooms, thinking this not sufficient assertion of his right, continued wearing his court head-piece throughout the time he was in the "presence." The good old King at length extinguished this poor bit of pride, by bluntly remarking; "The gentleman has a right to be covered before me; but even King John could give him no right to be covered before ladies." The rebuke was most effectual; and De Courcy saw, to his horror, that the entire court, ladies, princesses, courtiers, and attendants, were wreathing a broad girdle of grins "all round his hat."

It is said that when Fox the Quaker had an interview with Charles the Second, the King observing that his "friend" kept on his beaver, immediately took off his own. "Put on thy hat, friend Charles," said the plain gentleman. "Not so, friend George,” replied the King; "it is usual for only one man to be covered here." It was a neat retort, and may serve as a pendant to the remark of the peasant boy, whom Henry IV. had taken up behind him, and who pretended that he would take the lad where he might see the monarch. "How shall I know the King when he is among so many nobles!" said the rustic, as he rode en croupe behind the sovereign, of whose identity he was ignorant. “You

will know him," said Henri, "by his being the only person who will keep his hat on." At length the two arrived where the King's officers awaited him, and they all uncovered as he trotted up to them. "Now, good lad,” said he, "which is the King?" 'Well, exclaimed the boy, "it must be either you or I, for we have both got our hats on!"—An old-world story, I fear, but not mal trovato.

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Hats have been of divers service in battle. The plumed hat of Henry IV. was the rallying point of his followers. In later times, the head-covering was put to good purpose by a 'cute Highlander. In the Peninsular war, one of the 93rd and a French infantryman came upon one another in a wood. As their pieces were unloaded, they both rushed to the cover of a tree, in order to put their muskets in deadly order; but this done, neither was inclined to look out, lest the other should be beforehand with him, and let fly. At length the Highlander quietly put his feathered hat on the end of his piece, and held it a little beyond the tree, as though a head was in it, looking out. At the same moment the impatient Frenchman reconnoitered, saw his supposed advantage, and, from his rifle, sent a ball through his adversary's bonnet; thereupon the bonny Scot calmly advanced with his loaded piece, and took his enemy prisoner without difficulty.

I do not know if it ever occurred to any one that hats had something to do with the dissolution of the Long Parliament; but such is the fact. As soon as Cromwell had declared that assembly non-existent, he flung on his hat, and paced up and down the Parliament Chamber. The members, however, were piqued by such truly cavalier swagger, and would not budge an inch. Cromwell called in Major Harrison and the guard. The major saw how matters stood, and he felt at once that he could get the ex-deputies out much sooner by courtesy than carbines. Accordingly he approached the Speaker, and taking off his own hat with much ceremony, he bowed low, kissed the fallen official's hand, detaining it at the same time with such gentle violence that the deposed dignitary was constrained to follow whither the very